They Will Run You Down

Forty-Two: Dogma

"State your purpose," a young, serious looking man ordered with his gun trained.

John made the first move, reluctantly staying his aimed gun and holding both hands up as a show of peace, "We're looking for scientists," he yelled up to the man.

Harley, Edvin and Taylor lowered their weapons, trusting John's lead.

"We went to the CDC and found a sign. It led us here," Edvin added as he shifted his weight between one foot and the other.

The young man turned to speak quietly with an older, blonde woman who stood beside him.

"Why are you looking for scientists?" She questioned, her voice monotone.

"This is Harley," John began, looking at his tiny companion, "She's immune to the virus"

Harley raised her hand gingerly and waved at the strangers.

"Not possible. No one's immune to the virus," the woman argued, shaking her head.

Edvin took a step forward, "It's true. Do you have scientists?" He asked again, his tone growing impatient.

The group behind the fence whispered to one another for a moment before the woman replied, "Wait where you are," she commanded.

With that, the woman, the young man and two other men moved away from the fence and disappeared from sight while five other apprehensive faces stayed where they were, guns still trained on the foursome below them.

"Well, they didn't shoot us. That's good, right?" Taylor asked, his body rigid with nerves.

John nodded, scratching the stubble on his cheek, to which he promptly realized that Harley was right. He did, in fact, have a thing.

The foursome took to shifting impatiently, exchanging awkward glances with the group behind the fence who kept their guns devotedly aimed.

A frigid breeze danced through the trees, rustling the leaves in such a way it sounded similar to a small waterfall. Harley and her companions shivered, their wet clothes biting at their skin whenever the wind rushed by.

Suddenly everyone was drawn to movement in their periphery and they turned to see five people in orange biohazard suits emerge from around a bend on the walkway, all of them wielding semiautomatics as they paced cautiously closer.

"Place your guns on the ground," ordered the young man, his voice muffled by the window lense of his hazmat suit.

John, Harley, Edvin and Taylor looked at one another, unsure of the situation. They didn't know these new people or their motives, but unless they intended to pack up and leave the island, they were going to have to acquiesce to instruction.

Taking a deep breath, John nodded at his group to oblige and together they rested their weapons on the concrete path.

"Keep your hands up where we can see them and move slowly toward us," ordered the same man.

As a cohesive unit, Harley, John, Taylor and Edvin began to walk forward with their arms raised.

As soon as they were away from their guns, two of the suited people stepped around to the rear of the foursome so that they were, in effect, surrounded.

"This way," the woman instructed, pointing her gun up the path.

The foursome were led around the bend at gun point and just beyond that, they saw the tall fence that separated the main level of the island and the plateau.

They were ushered up to the heavy gate where two more men in hazmat suits waited to open it to allow reentry.

The foursome were led into the inner sanctum which, from first impressions, looked to be the remains of some sort of long lost stronghold. Old, worn brick buildings lined all four sides of a large, open dirt courtyard and the entire place was fenced off from not only the main level of the island, but also from the rest of the plateau.